


August Twelfth

by Sanj



Series: Summer and Winter [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-01
Updated: 2006-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:42:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanj/pseuds/Sanj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus was not doing this. He was not thinking about James and Lily's son like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	August Twelfth

Soft footfalls again on the staircase, so quiet that no true human could have heard them. Remus sighed, and picked up another book, making his face a mask of scholarly immersion.

Sure enough, Harry was there, a mumbled "hullo" and diffident wave. Glasses and hair askew, feet bare, everything bare except for a cut-off pair of trousers. Mausoleum it might be, but even Grimmauld Place was sultry with late summer heat.

Harry smelled of sex and sweat; he usually did. Remus wasn't certain Harry had done anything else but read and masturbate since arriving from the Dursleys' a week ago. Remus understood the impulse: rampant escapism. He succumbed to it himself, albeit with rather more books and considerably less groping.

But then, Harry wouldn't be pining for Sirius when he was alone in bed.

One ardently hoped.

Remus watched as Harry retrieved a bottle of cold milk and drank it down, as he'd done every night. Growing boy, certainly, growing arms and legs, growing young man's body, taut stomach and dark hair around his nipples, that mouth --

And Remus was not doing this. Not thinking about James and Lily's son. Not about his mouth or his hands or his pale throat, swallowing milk in between breathy gasps. Remus ignored his ears and eyes and nose, focused again on the battered treatise in his hands.

_Given sufficient pressure, defensive sigils cast by even the most experienced wizards may shatter, leaving the caster at a disadvantage._

Breath. Gulp. Breath. Gulp.

Enough. "Harry."

Lily's eyes blinking in James' face; the combination always brought a wave of melancholy. And yet, they became more Harry's eyes every day, less like something lost and more like something entirely unique. "You want something?" His voice was baritone, warmer and deeper than James' had been.

Rather, Remus thought. "Are you sleeping all right?"

He shrugged. "You're here every night, too." Small wonder Harry's talents matched his own, really; he was the most naturally defensive person Remus had ever known.

"I'm not sleeping very well either," Remus admitted.

"It's hot."

"Mmm."

"What are you reading?" Harry asked, and he moved closer. Too close; Remus could almost taste his skin.

"A treatise by Alisoun Truffet on the nature of protective sigils," he drawled, letting Harry know his company was far more welcome than the book's.

Harry grinned. "I thought my Potions text was bad."

"Don't tell me you're submitting yourself to another year of Snape's tender mercies."

A look of hate crossed Harry's face, a hatred poisonous enough that Remus felt his own skin prickle in response. "Please don't even _say_ Snape, all right?"

A battle to be fought another time; Remus wasn't up to it now. "All right. I also won't say 'occlumency.'"

"Thank you." Harry walked away, reached into the pantry for another bottle of milk. "Would you like some? I think it's supposed to help you sleep."

"I've moved on to scotch. But thank you."

Harry poured himself a pint glass this time, tapping the milk bottle to refresh its chilling spell. He straddled the chair next to Remus, poking through Remus' pile of books. "Is it even possible to read everything published on Defense?"

"Not really," Remus admitted, considering. "The secret everyone knows -- and that no one admits -- is that you actually need to study the Dark Arts very closely in order to properly defend against them. And actual writings on the Dark Arts themselves are very difficult to get hold of, despite the fact that there are probably thousands of them."

"It's a slippery slope, Hermione says. Between defense and practice."

"Hermione's an exceptionally intelligent witch."

"How do you stay on the right side of things?" Harry asked, and Remus knew the true question was _how do _I_ stay there._

Remus summoned his most calming, professorial tone. "It helps a great deal to accept that you have a fair measure of darkness within you. Everyone does. What's essential is to acknowledge it without letting it have free reign over your actions." He paused and reached for the nearly untouched glass of scotch at the end of his book pile. Tasted it more to wet his throat than anything.

Silence reigned as Harry bit down on this notion, his lips pressed together in an eerie echo of Sirius. Or of James. Remus wasn't certain, only that the expression jabbed at his heart almost as much as the inability to correctly assign it.

"Sometimes," Remus added, "I think I've got it easier than most people. I have a name and a face for my own darkness. Most people can't compartmentalize that easily."

Harry considered this; Remus's favorite thing about Harry was that he seemed to carefully consider almost anything Remus said to him. "There's all these things that I can do and that happen to me just because of Voldemort. I mean, I think I like being a Parselmouth."

Remus nodded. "I can hear and smell things people usually can't. More so near the full moon. I'm stronger than nature intended, perhaps, and more resistant to injury and disease. There are benefits."

"But it hurts you terribly --" Harry laid a hand across his wrist. Remus let it lie there.

"My point is that there's a positive side to even the most wretched curse. You're troubled by visions and pain and attacks on your innermost thoughts, but only a Parselmouth could have saved Ginny Weasley."

Harry's palm was sweaty, his elegant fingers callused. "So how do you look at the good side and stay away from the bad?"

"You accept that nothing's that simple," he said, and glanced pointedly at Harry's hand, still on his own. Harry snatched it away with a panic that would have been laughable, had Remus not so intensely recognised its source.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled.

"Don't be," Remus said, and meant it. "Harry, if you've been meaning to seduce me, you're doing a perfectly acceptable job."

Harry stood his ground despite the intense flush in his cheeks. "Just acceptable?"

Remus sighed. "You're how old? Fifteen?"

"Sixteen."

"I apologize," Remus said, letting the distance between sixteen and thirty-seven hang in his voice. "When I was fifteen -- and had a crush on your mother, mind -- I remember thinking sixteen quite old indeed."

"A crush on my mum?" Harry asked. "Not my dad?"

"Oh, no, James was incontrovertibly straight. But Lily -- well, if there'd ever have been a woman for me...." Remus sighed. "Sirius tried very hard to turn James' head. If Sirius had succeeded with James, it might well have gone the other way."

Harry's eyes could be quite owlish, blinking like that. "Um. Wow."

"Yes, wow. So understand it's very hard for me to see you as a grown man. For one thing, you're not of age -- not yet, despite your shouldering responsibilities that would weigh down the most jaded adult heart. But for another -- "

He sighed. "I look just like my mum and dad."

"You look like you," Remus said. "But I keep making the mistake of looking for Lily and James in your face. I expect I'll grow out of it. In the meantime, I ask you to have some mercy on me."

"I'm not doing anything." Nothing said sullen like a randy adolescent.

"Would you mind not doing anything in a few more clothes? And possibly with the benefit of a bath, particularly if you insist on marinating in your own hormones for the entire afternoon?"

"Oh." Harry said to his feet. The flush in his cheeks was irresistible.

"Oh," Remus agreed. "I'm only human, Harry. Don't push me. At some point I might snap and molest you."

_I wouldn't mind,_ he said with the tilt of his head. "I'm really pretty sure I'm gay."

"Congratulations."

"Don't patronize me."

"I'm not." Remus prayed for a patience that simply wasn't to be found. "I'm very tempted," he said, letting the admission come, standing up to pull the boy to his chest and touch his straggled black hair. "I don't think you're a child, nor naive. I'm quite aware of your maturity, and exactly what you're trying to live through right now. Plus you've successfully driven me to distraction and back all week. Don't doubt that I want you."

"You can have me," Harry said softly. "I want you to."

_Ah, youth,_ James would have said. And Sirius, _Let him learn, then._

Remus leaned down and kissed him, as tenderly and completely as he could manage. Harry startled but recovered quickly, natural and easy as breathing, his mouth sweet with milk and damnably soft. Remus let the kiss, and its return, take as much time as it took.

He stepped away, then, a cold place in his heart adjusting to the alchemical quality of desire. "Five years."

"What?"

"Wait five years. Outlive your parents. Have a great deal of sex with people your own age. Then try this again."

His chin set. "I might not even live five years. You --" his voice broke. "You might not."

"Call it incentive, then. For both of us." Harry was already drawing breath to challenge him, but Remus placed his fingers over that mouth and let Harry see exactly how difficult this was. "I can't be haunted by your parents' memory, Harry, nor can you expect me to have my way with a minor and then look Albus or Molly in the eye. Five years. Finish your adolescence and you'll find my answer will be quite different."

Harry looked away. "I suppose you'll also say that if I really loved you I'd listen to you."

"I didn't say it. Which doesn't actually make it any less true."

"And that you're old enough to be my father."

"You'd be surprised how very nearly I _was_ your father," Remus said, letting his fondness for Lily, for everyone they'd both lost, into his tone. "So grant me a little grace, if you please."

"Today's August the twelfth," Harry said, drawing himself away, wrapping his arms around his chest as if he were suddenly cold.

"So it is." Remus wasn't certain how to respond to the non sequitur.

"You'd better mark it on your calendar, then. Because I'm not waiting a day longer." And Harry turned and left so quickly that it seemed he could fly all on his own.

Remus leaned over and took up his scotch, draining it in a long draught. And then he sat back down to Alisoun Truffet. Sleep was not coming anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> After OotP, I decided Harry and Remus both needed love and comfort. Hence this story and its sequel.
> 
> Cereta and Kass were my trusty beta editors.
> 
> I'm still mad about Book Seven. *sigh*


End file.
